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babies, Preg Stuff, Sharing, You think you know but you have no idea

Ruby Lee’s birth. Part 1. Obviously this birth is a trilogy.

November 28, 2012

Our story actually begins the night before birth. Once we reached acceptance with surgery, it was surreal to plan for. I re-packed my bags for a 4 night stay, and as I did I still choked back tears as I planned for my daughter’s birth. Although we made peace with the c-section, I felt a small bit of remaining mourning and that my daughter couldn’t come to us how she wanted to. I kept thinking how scary it must be to be born via surgery. But what do I know? Squeezing through a vagina seems scary too.

And as I read G his last books before bed, I muffled through “goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere”. I cried a little as this would be our last moments as just the two of us. This was it. It would never be all about G anymore and he really had no idea how much life was about to change. I cried just a little bit as I said goodbye to those last moments, kissed him goodnight and prepared for battle.

Yes, at that moment, I did see it as battle. Maybe even war. Because honestly, we lost many battles along the way. When asked if I could at least have my hands untied during the surgery, or have the baby placed on my chest, or breastfeed while I was being sewn up…I was told no. After fighting for a VBAC, we were here now. And we lost those battles. But B had promised me that as we walked into surgery, he wouldn’t give up and still fight all the way up to the operation for what we wanted. And for that I was grateful.

5:30am I brushed my teeth and put on makeup. Oh I put on makeup alright. If they were telling me when I was giving birth, I was telling them that there would be makeup….and hair. It was dark and quiet outside. It felt ominous. We should have been high fiving that today was the day. Our daughter was arriving! But I was scared. It was major surgery. And major surgery that could go any way; emotionally or physically.

We didn’t really talk in the car on the way to the hospital. My eyes welled up a few times. This was it.

We get there and the nurse asks why we were there. Ummm to have a baby? Yeah but why so early, she says. BECAUSE YOU TOLD US TO. Like I actually wanted to be there at 630 am. The nurse is very nice but nice only gets you so far when you commit bloody murder on my veins as you jab me with your IV. Having a bad IV for a 4 night hospital stay is like worse than herpes on your face. It hurts all the time and if it’s in a bad spot, you can’t do anything with your hands.Which is totally like herpes on your face.

My doula arrives, thank GOD. A few words about my doula: She is one of those people that you swear is actually a fairy. Even her voice is calming. Her solution to almost every problem is to light a candle. And she was determined to do that in a hospital. And she did it. She was my strength through this. Because she represented the side of me that really wanted this to be a natural experience. And she mourned this with me more than anyone. And having that sort of understanding throughout this was everything. B is supportive, but this isn’t his world. And that’s ok. My doula saved me.

My midwife arrived. I asked her if she was surprised that I showed up. She said no, because I read your blog. Aaaaah…. It always freaks me out when people say that. I’m like, shit, how could I have offended this person? And I mentally scan through my last writings. I sort of expected my midwife to be on team hospital. But she wasn’t. She was on team baby and she wanted this to be a good experience as much as we did. And having her support was really important and such a relief.

Now we wait.

We waited in the little hospital pre-op room. My stomach was in knots. With my last c-section I didn’t have time to think about anything. We just went in and did it. I did think, thank god I’ll get some relief from these contractions. This time was different. I thought about that I was about to be awake while my abdomen was sliced open. I was SCARED.

The surgeon came back and my doula was ON HER. My doula was like, listen sister, I wasn’t in any  meetings. I don’t know the answers to these questions. But can we do this, this and this? And if not tell me why. The surgeon was like, woah hippie girl. But she basically said that they will do the best they can. Because I had given up all hope at this point, I had nothing to lose.

And then we went back to the OR.


Part 2 next.

I know you hate me. I hate me too.




Our story actually begins the night before birth. Once we reached acceptance with surgery, it was surreal to plan…

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hippie stuff, Preg Stuff, Sharing, You think you know but you have no idea

The hand we’ve been dealt and the struggle to accept it.

November 15, 2012

This will be a very difficult post for me to write. Because when I put it down in words, it’s real.

You may have noticed that Wednesday afternoon, I closed the comments on the last post. It wasn’t because there were offensive comments or any problem at all. It was because your comments were so thoughtful and encouraging…telling me that I could do it and that you had a great vbac and I will too. Every one of them became an unintentional stab in the heart.

Wednesday afternoon we found out that unless I go into spontaneous labor all on my own, I would be having a c-section Monday morning.

It was devastating.

My cervix is still very high, closed and hard. And it turns out I’m less effaced than was let on (to give me a positive sense of hope and take some of my anxiety away). But for someone who is approaching 41 weeks, this means that probably something is going on. Either the head is too big or in a bad position to put enough pressure on the cervix to open it up,  a cord is holding the baby up or there is a ton of floaty fluids in there. In a non VBAC type birth, this is no big thing. Cervix doesn’t mean much. You just wait it out or get induced or whatever. However, with a VBAC your cervix has to be sort of ready to go before any sort of induction. And like many of you pointed out, induction with a VBAC is a touchy thing. And inducing a cervix like mine would be long. Like days long, making it dangerous.

And B and I got that news on Wednesday and B and I and the midwife cried together in her office.

We cried for the loss of something that I had hoped for since the day that G was born. And the thing we talked about and read about and learned all about for 9 months. We cried about the potential I had to deal with postpartum depression again after a disappointment like this. Because in all likely hood, a VBAC now just wasn’t in the cards for me.

And I’ve been mourning this loss now since yesterday and really struggling with coming to grips with never having a birth like my body was meant to. And never having that experience that was so important to me…to feel like my body isn’t broken and it can’t do what it’s meant to.


Now here’s where I talk to you about this. I’m talking to you who doesn’t understand this sort of mourning or pain. I’m talking to myself circa 2005 who would have been like, “I don’t get it, what’s the big deal?” Here’s the thing…You don’t have to understand. You don’t have to feel what I feel. But I ask you to respect it.

I don’t understand people who enjoy running a marathon. I don’t understand 80% of religion. I don’t understand golf. But I respect it.  And try to respect that people have desires, goals and interests that are totally in conflict with mine. Including people who have many scheduled and elective c-sections. I know that there is a path that led us all to the choices that we make. I am not you. You are not me. But what I ask is that you understand that in my life, given my life experiences, and what I hold important to me, this was everything.

Many years ago I suffered from horrible back pain. I saw 230 doctors. No one could diagnose me. They wanted me to have surgery at 24 years old. After years of pain, I solved my problem without medication and learned about the mental side of pain. I have interstitial cystits. After years of pills, I solved my problem with baking soda. After not being able to diagnose G’s allergies for months, a naturopath told me through muscle testing that it was wheat, soy and dairy…it was. All of these things have put me on the path that I’m on.

I believe that our bodies and brains do so much more than we know. I believe that modern medicine can save lives and thank the universe that we have it. But I think we don’t know enough yet. And all I wanted was to have this baby the way nature intended it. I did not want it surgically cut out of me. I wanted to feel my body tell me when it’s time to push this baby out. I wanted the baby to get all of the  magic vagina juice that it gets on the way out. I wanted the cord to stop pulsing on it’s own before we cut it. I wanted B to catch that baby and all of us cry with how amazing that all was and the miracle that we experienced. I tell you all of this so again, you don’t have to completely relate to how I feel but simply so you can respect it.

In the last 24 hours I’ve cried a lot. And I’m trying so hard to remember that at the end of this I will have a healthy baby and that really is what matters. But for those of you who know about postpartum depression, sometimes it’s not all that matters. If you can’t look at your baby and love your baby the way you should, the devastation wins. I am terrified to go through this again. So afraid that I will go into an operating room, come out and be handed a baby. And I’ll wonder why I’m babysitting after surgery. Because that’s what it feels like.

There is no guarantee that this will happen, but going down this path again makes it almost impossible to not compare it to G’s birth experience. And yes, there is even a chance that before Monday I could go into labor on my own. And I’ve been dealing with walking the line of continuing to “try” with interventions and deal with the stress and disappointment of that world versus accepting the cards I’ve been dealt and trying to make peace with it. It’s not easy.

I haven’t given up though. I’ve had more acupuncture, chiropractic and positive thinking than any white girl this side of the Atlantic. But honestly, my hope is low. I’m sort of walking through the motions now to feel like I did what I could and not have regrets.

I’m sad. I’m struggling. I’m defeated.

But I wanted to share this with all of you in hopes that we try to understand each other more. Our differences make us interesting and that’s how we learn. This post wasn’t so Jane in Oklahoma cancels her scheduled C section because she is so enlightened now. It’s so Jane stops judging Judy who wants a natural birth and Judy stops judging Jane.

I thought about keeping the comments closed on this post, but I think it’s important to discuss in a respectful way.

Thanks for going on this journey with me. I know it’s to teach me something. I just don’t know what that is yet.






This will be a very difficult post for me to write. Because when I put it down in words,…

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hippie stuff, Innapropriate, Preg Stuff, Sharing, Vom stuff, You think you know but you have no idea

I say “vag” 30 times in this post and “Olsen twin” 4 times. Also I mspainted private parts. You’re warned.

November 7, 2012

I definitely took for granted last time that I didn’t have to go through the waitandsee bullshit of pregnancy. My water broke early and we were off. No, I don’t want that again, but this waiting and seeing is nonsense.

So today I had a midwife appointment and I let her “check me”. I originally said that is something I wouldn’t do. It’s not a reliable means of finding out if or when you are in labor. Or even if it will happen soon. But my situation is different. If my cervix doesn’t get off it’s lazy asshole and do SOMETHING soon, it’s c section time. So we checked.

And I didn’t sleep last night because of it. And I couldn’t eat breakfast. Because holycervixface, this is a big deal. And I was like B, are you nervous? And he’s like, about what? And I’m like, punch in your neck.

The poor midwife is like straight up *nervous* to stick her hand in my vag because I’m in tears and B is staring her down like, you better say something good or my life will be misery for 2 weeks. This was also the very first time her and my vagina met. So there were pleasantries exchanged like, nice to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you, etc.

So she checks.

And she’s making faces.

And she’s digging around.

And she’s like What’s that?


And she’s like, oh it’s nothing.

And she’s like ok. You’re 80% effaced but not dilated.

And she’s trying desperately to stick a finger in the cervix hole but it’s closed up tight.

So for those of you who don’t know (I didn’t). Effaced means that your cervix is getting thinner and softer. Dilation is when the tiny hole in your cervix starts to open up shop. I read that in pregnant women your cervix looks and feels like lips.

So this is what I picture my cervix to look like now. Warning, this is very graphic and accurate.

You know, like Olsen twin duck face lips. NOT opening.

What we need is this:

So that’s what we’re working on. Visualization of blow up dolls and the like. I read it or something.

The super good news is that worse case scenario, I will be induced on the 19th. But my midwife is confident that I will go into labor before then on my own. But she said “don’t quote me on the blog”. So I’m not quoting her on the blog. I’m just quoting her saying don’t quote me. Which I think is ok and allowed. Also yes, she reads the blog. I know….

But I’m feeling more positive and trying to stay that way for these reasons:

1) My water so far has not spontaneously ruptured. I’m a beaver dam for waters. Literally.

2) Effacement is good. It means stuff is happening and it makes me feel like I’m not broken.

3) I don’t have this looming imminent c-section threat hanging over my head anymore. No I don’t WANT to be induced, but I’ll take it if I have to.

4) I have an Olsen twin in my vag.

It’s getting close and I’m excited. I’m nervous. I’m ready. Also a snow storm is coming. So Yoshe was probably waiting for that. Just to make things interesting.

Also my doula muscle tested me for baby names. Oh you don’t know what this is? It’s when you hold stuff and they see how your muscles respond. I held paper with baby names written on them. Apparently she HATES 2 of the names, LOVES 2 and won’t murder us in our sleep over 1 of them. Hippies are the best.

Ok there you go friends.

I will keep you posted. Almost go time.

Love to you and your Olsen.


PS Please start calling your vag an Olsen.




I definitely took for granted last time that I didn’t have to go through the waitandsee bullshit of pregnancy.…

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babies, I hate everyone, Innapropriate, Preg Stuff, You think you know but you have no idea

My unborn child is a reckless bad ass with blue tooth and an attitude. And I’m in no mood.

September 30, 2012

Hello friends. It’s been a spell, hasn’t it? I however can no longer take responsibility for my body or it’s actions. I declare that this 3rd trimester will somehow, someway get me onto at least the local news, if not Watch What Happens Live with Andy Cohen. Let me explain.

Lest you not forget (I ALWAYS WANTED TO USE LEST), I have had a baby before. But hear me now women, it doesn’t matter even one tiny shit bit. You’d think I’d know what I was in for. You’d think I would know what I signed up for. But you know what? I didn’t. I just didn’t. And I take 97% responsibility off my shoulders. Because non first babies get into your lady parts and are like, “aw shit, this place is a mess. It’s all  lived in and foul. Guess I can trash the place and it doesn’t matter”. Because baby 2 does.not.give.a.shit. Baby 2 is like I WILL MAKE YOU GAIN 60 LBS. I WILL MAKE YOU FALL ASLEEP AT THE STOVE. I WILL THEN LET THAT BE THE ONLY SLEEP YOU GET FOR 3 DAYS AND NIGHTS. I WILL USE YOUR BLADDER AS A TRAMPOLINE. I WILL OWN YOU.

(my baby also uses one of those lame blue tooth ear pieces.)

And you are totally helpless to their rude behavior. They signed the lease fair and square. They paid first and last month’s rent. All you can do is hold their security deposit when they leave. But they are babies and don’t even have wallets. So what the hell do they care? And this is my point women: THEY DON’T CARE.

So what I’m trying to tell you all, is this: I have a full 6 weeks left (possibly 7). I am definitely bigger than I was at delivery with G. I’m assuming that I’m either growing a mutated watermelon with feet or a 15lb baby inside of me. Both I truly feel are real possibilities. Either way, I’m planning on calling the good people at Guinness (not the beer, the book) and inviting them to my delivery (although the beer people may be more appreciated). But I believe shit will get real in there. I believe that whatever comes out of me will drop jaws.

G says to me daily, “Mommy biiiiig”. Yes, mommy is big. He continues “Belly sooooo big”. Yeah dude, I get it, but way to rub it in. And in yoga class tonight a new girl shows up. I hear her chatting in the back as I pass out on my mat. She says she has only 10 weeks left. I’m like, thank god another big girl in my spot. She walks in and looks like she maaaaybe ate 2 hamburgers. And it looks like I’m actually her surrogate. I said, “hi, I hate you”. And those were the only words that I spoke to her. I need an intervention.

I do not know how I’m psychically, mentally or emotionally going to make it SIX MORE WEEKS. I literally can not cry at one more Honey Boo Boo commercial. And no, I can not explain that. I can’t walk up the stairs one more time and I can not sleep one more night until 4am and then just “hang out” until it’s time to get up. But like I said, we both signed this lease and we’re in this till the end.

I do not know how much I’ll be around here from now until November 11th or 12th or millionth. I don’t know if I can physically hold my body up in this poop chair any longer. But I’ll try and check in so you know I didn’t float myself down a river never to be found again.

And if one single one of you leave me a comment about how ungrateful I am for my pregnancy and baby and I am offending beer drinking babies everywhere, I will literally squeeze a hemorrhoid out of you with my bare hands. I will love the shit out of the baby WHEN IT’S OUT OF MY BODY. For now, we’re just working through our issues.

help me rhonda,

the 3rd MODGmester




Hello friends. It’s been a spell, hasn’t it? I however can no longer take responsibility for my body or…

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Confession Fridays, I hate everyone, Not Pleased, Preg Stuff, Sharing, You think you know but you have no idea

Blogging in the 3rd trimester should be on the no list with boozing and belly flops onto cement.

September 4, 2012

Where have I been?

I feel like I’ve been answering that a lot lately.  To be fair to myself and avoid any responsibility, I blame Yoshe.

Where do I begin…

Most of you have been reading with me from the very beginning. I love that, because when I write, I genuinely feel like I’m talking to friends. Again, this is #21 on the list of things to discuss with a therapist. But I always forget that there are those of you who haven’t been reading from the beginning. And thank Bravo TV for those people because that’s how this little blog gets bigger and fancier. But those of you who are relatively new don’t always get me, my sense of humor or my notgiveashit attitude. Which is ok. You don’t have to get it. It’s my job to make this blog a “get free” zone.

And for the most part I’m cool with it. I’m cool with the random super sensitive comment. Or the nasty one. Listen, I dish it, I better be able to take it. That is until something happened called trimester 3.

Trimester 3 is a tricky thing my friends. Well, I should say, this pregnancy with this child at this moment is a damn telenovela. I know this because every day at the same time, I see the same commercial on TLC for Medium where she tells that little boy that she’s talking to his dead father and I sob. FOR AN HOUR. EVERY DAY.

I know, why don’t I just change the channel? Why did I order leather maternity leggings?  Some questions really just can’t be answered. But what I’m trying to say here is that my emotions are not in check right now. I can’t handle anything. I’m REALLY angry at sporadic weather patterns one minute and I’m sobbing at my lack of Halloween costume inspiration the next. And this is new for me. Being preg with G, I was all…oh dead baby rabbits? Whatever.

So when we have comment wars or people telling me that I’m insensitive to Hungarian bakers who are middle children currently living in Detroit, I really can’t deal. And it’s not your fault. Like I said, I dish it. I need to take it. And “martinis” MODG could take it. Man could she take it. I read that old shit and I’m like, damn that’s a tough bitch. DG MODG is a flowery pansy. Well, preg with a girl at 30 weeks MODG is a flowery pansy. I’m praying things go back to prep punching normal after my vagina evacuates.

But I’m a firm believer on this blog in being honest, being me and telling you all like it is. So when I’m sobbing profanities into my keyboard, I usually make the decision to say nothing at all instead of ICAN’TTAKEITANYMOREICAN’TGOON.

But I’m getting to a better place. At least for now. I credit that to the best 70 dollar Craigslist find ever to happen to a human being. If you follow me on Facebook, you’ve seen it. I know, you’re totally like well, I didn’t see it because I have an app to block when people post furniture to Craigslist. (see? that’s me being moderately crass again. You’re welcome).


And after this melodramatic trimester 3 post, I will reward all with a full post on how to find the awesomest shit on Craigslist for cheap without getting murdered. It’s really gold.

Thanks for being patient with me. Pregnant chicks are the worst.




Where have I been? I feel like I’ve been answering that a lot lately.  To be fair to myself…

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babies, I love cats and if you don't you can bite me., Not Pleased, You think you know but you have no idea

Dear Persons who installed on Facebook

August 24, 2012

Hi!. I heard you don’t want to see babies anymore on your facebook feed and you downloaded this new app that blocks baby faces and replaces them with things like cats and dogs. It’s cool, I get it. You’re young, hot, hip and with it. I can tell by the 300 pictures that I’ve seen on you in your bikini on the beach from all different angles. I don’t know how you get your arms to stretch like that, but way to go. Looking at babies is SO not part of your scene. I mean what if one of your friends actually caught you with a picture of a baby on your monitor? Can you even imagine? Shit would get real. They would definitely ban you from the next group Halloween. I know! And you were SO excited to dress up like slutty crayons AGAIN. And I really wanted to see those pictures. Again.

(photo from

But listen, honestly, I do get it. You are in a different part of your life than I am. You don’t actually have a baby. So why would you want to see a baby? Like I don’t  have a dog so I don’t really feel like seeing your dog on your bed “smiling” for the camera and you quoting his thoughts: “Sparky LOVES to be a cuddle bug!”. But tell me what you are ok with seeing so I can post more pictures of that. Food that I’ve cooked from Pinterest? Motivational Someecards that say things like “I hate big boobs, said no one ever” hahaha. See how funny I am? Oh wait, how about just more pictures of my cat. You like that. I know this because the option on is to replace pictures of babies with actual cats. This I get. If anything says cool and hip, it’s being a Cat Lady.

You know, we’re not that different though now that I think about it. I’ve shown you pictures of my baby covered in mud, stumbling along as he learns to walk with his shirt off because it got all wet in the hose. That was totally JUST like your Saturday night, right? I know because I saw it. On Facebook. I just didn’t have any sort of app to not see it. But it’s ok, that’s who you are. And you’re my real friend. Because Facebook says we are.

I was there. I posted that shit before I had a baby. We bonded over my 500 girl night out pictures. You saw me mirror posing to get the perfect I’mnottryingtobegorgeousbutIreallyam face and then instantly make it my profile picture.

You saw pictures of my sore feet in my LAMB shoes with a dollar bill stuffed in them, just because.

You even saw me wear costumes to 7-11 because that’s what cool hip people without babies do. And you know what? You didn’t complain. That makes you tops in my book.

But now I’m a mom. Wah Wah…. I have kids. BLAH. I am pregnant. BOOOO. I am despicable. I don’t want the pictures of the happiest thing in my whole life to clog up your facebook feed. You need to have room to see what everyone is listening to on Spotify. Duh.

So enjoy your new found freedom. I’m going right now to download,, and I’m going to replace all of those things with pictures of babies.

Yay. Now we can all be the exact type of friend that we want. Clones of ourselves.



I would super love if you could post in the comments what you would like to Some of my favorites so far are and Please continue this sort of thing as it makes me very happy. Thank you.


Hi!. I heard you don’t want to see babies anymore on your facebook feed and you downloaded this new…

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